Father Knows Best
by trilesanderrors
Summary: Miles's dad doesn't like Tristan. Will that stop Miles from hanging out with him? Eventual Triles.
1. Chapter 1

Miles and Tristan burst into the Hollingsworth kitchen, dropping their backpacks on the floor.

"God, that practice was brutal," Miles winced, rubbing his shoulder as he made his way to the fridge. Tristan walked to the center of the room and spun around slowly. The space was huge, with sprawling marble counter tops and state of the art appliances.

"Miles, your house is... ridiculous. I feel like I've seen it on _Cribs_."

"Yeah... we have plenty of space," Miles laughed humbly, pulling open the fridge and grabbing two bottles of water. He tossed one to Tristan, who caught it effortlessly.

"I swear, if I had a kitchen like this, I'd never leave."

"You cook?" Miles asked, intrigued.

"Gotta make eating healthy fun somehow!" Tristan said lightheartedly.

"Ah..." Miles twisted the cap off his bottle and took a quick swig. "A health nut..."

"I was a fat child." Tristan admitted. "But we don't have to talk about that."

Miles nodded with an amused chuckle, then winced again, and reached back to his shoulder.

"What's the matter?" Tristan asked. "Did you pull something?"

"I must have put too much into my free throw," Miles told him. "I'm fine. Just stiff."

Tristan shook his head. That was unacceptable.

"Come on. Sit down." He demanded, pulling a stool out from the kitchen table and gesturing to it.

Miles slowly obeyed. By this point, he knew how insistent Tristan could be. Tristan gently started to massage his shoulders, and Miles had to admit, it helped a lot.

"You have to take care of your body." Tristan lectured him maternally. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you can't over exert yourself."

Miles closed his eyes and rolled his head back. "Is that what you've learned?" He asked smartly.

Suddenly, the sound of someone clearing their throat made Miles jolt out of his comfortable position. He looked toward the door to see his father standing there with his arms crossed.

"I thought you had basketball practice," Mr. Hollingsworth said without so much as a hello.

"It got out early," Tristan informed him. Then, he remembered his manners, and started walking toward him. "I'm Tristan, by the way. I'm on the team."

He extended his hand to Mr. Hollingsworth, but the older man didn't reciprocate. Instead, he looked to Miles, who was standing next to his chair, speechless.

"_You're_ on the basketball team?" Mr. Hollingsworth asked cynically, giving Tristan a good look up and down.

Tristan lowered his hand. "Yeah. I'm the point guard."

Mr. Hollingsworth looked at Miles again. Miles stared at the floor.

"Tristan, it was nice to meet you," Mr. Hollingsworth said, his voice dripping with insincerity. "Miles, I think your friend better go home."

Tristan's jaw dropped a bit, he looked to Miles.

"Why?" Miles asked boldly. "I don't have any other plans tonight."

Mr. Hollingsworth shook his head. "I _said_ your friend needs to go. You have homework. I don't want to have to argue about this."

Tristan waited, expecting Miles to put up more of a fight. However, something in Miles's face changed. He gritted his teeth and walked over to where Tristan's backpack was resting on the floor.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow, Tris," Miles mumbled, picking the backpack up and carrying it to him.

"Um... okay...?" Tristan took his backpack, and hesitated for only a moment before starting to exit. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As he made his way to the front door alone, he could barely process what had just happened. He could only think of one reason why Miles's dad didn't like him.

* * *

Miles lay in bed that night with the lights on, staring at the ceiling. He had some homework, but he couldn't concentrate. All he could think about was Tristan, who had become one of the best friends he'd ever had. He was sick over how quickly his father had judged him. Compared to some of the kids Miles had caused trouble with at his last school, Tristan was a saint.

Around nine, his father knocked on his door. Miles didn't answer. He didn't have the energy.

Mr. Hollingsworth entered the room anyway. "You getting your assignments done?"

"Absolutely," Miles said guardedly, refusing to sit up and look at him.

Mr. Hollingsworth looked over to Miles's desk, where his math book lay open, his half-completed homework on top of it. His gaze lingered for a moment, and then he chose to ignore his son's blatant lie. There were more important things on his mind.

"So. Big game tomorrow night!" Mr. Hollingsworth said.

Miles laughed. "What? You care now?"

"Of course I care! My son's on the varsity basketball team! I'll be cheering you on in the stands."

Miles knew what this was about. Now that his father knew he was friends with a guy as feminine as Tristan, he was going to do everything in his power to encourage Miles's masculinity.

"Well, I wouldn't waste my time if I were you," He told him. He wasn't exactly the team's star player, and to be honest, he actually preferred to warm the bench. Sports weren't exactly his favorite thing in the world.

Mr. Hollingsworth hesitated, then asked, "Do you really know that boy from basketball? Or have you been skipping practice to go to another one of your frilly dance classes?"

Miles finally sat up. "You assume that just because Tristan's gay, I met him in dance class? Do you realize how ignorant you sound?"

"Well, you don't want me to come to your game. I think I'm right to assume that you're hiding something."

Miles took a deep breath, and reminded himself that this conversation could be worse. His father could be screaming at him.

"Fine. Come." He said shortly. "If it would make you happy to come and see how stupid you're being, be my guest."

Mr. Hollingsworth was satisfied, and started toward the door. "Four O'Clock?"

Miles nodded, annoyed, and watched his father leave. He was getting really sick of these pointless conversations.

* * *

_"Miles, I think your friend better go home," _

The words echoed in Tristan's ears over and over. Sure, he'd encountered some homophobic jerks before, but never in his life had anyone made him feel _this_ bad about himself. All Mr. Hollingsworth had had to do was look at him before he judged him, and decided he wasn't good enough to hang out with his son. It was humiliating.

"Tris..."

Tristan heard Miles voice approaching while he was at his locker, switching out his books. He knew he couldn't ignore it. Miles wasn't the one who threw him out. Then again, he did nothing to fight for Tristan to stay.

"Good morning," He said coldly, avoiding eye contact. "How was your night?"

"Honestly? Lame." Miles said casually. "I spent the entire night avoiding homework and went to bed early."

Tristan finally turned to look at him. He didn't want to bring it up, yet something forced him. "Are you really just going to pretend like nothing happened."

"Look, my dad's really weird about me having friends over," Miles tried. "I wouldn't take it personally."

"Really?" Tristan asked forcefully, shutting his locker and starting his walk to class. "He wouldn't have let Winston stay either?"

"Winston's been around for ages," Miles tried, following him.

Tristan shook his head. "Your dad threw me out because I'm gay."

Miles shook his head. A small, nervous laugh escaped his lips. Tristan stared him down hard, and he suddenly realized the other boy didn't appreciate being lied to.

"Okay? You want the truth? Yeah. That's probably it."

"Great..." Tristan said sarcastically.

"But it's not about you. He's paranoid. He probably thinks you're gonna convert me or something."

"That's ridiculous," Tristan said quietly. "I learned my lesson in Paris. I'm never going to make a move on you again."

Miles swallowed, trying to think of something to say. This was the first time either of them had mentioned their kiss in Paris, and even though Tristan brought it up rather lightheartedly, it still caught Miles off guard. Finally, he spoke.

"Look: there's not really anything I can do about it, Tris. It's his house and his rules, but I still want to be your friend. So how about you accept my apology, and we'll just hang out at your house from now on."

Tristan sighed, frustrated. He quickly realized how valid Miles's suggestion was.

"Fine." He said, crossing his arms. Then, a small smile came over his face. "This isn't a ploy to get me to cook for you, is it?"

"Absolutely not," Miles promised.

"Good," Tristan said, starting to turn into his classroom. "After the game today?"

"Totally," Miles told him. "I can't wait."

* * *

As Miles expected, Coach Armstrong kept him on the bench for most of the game. He watched the other players, half-interested, but mostly just relieved that he didn't have to get up and join.

Tristan was put in during the second half. Miles had to admit that he was impressed by how well he was doing. He had a way of working with the team, making a series of clever passes, and always seeming to be in tune with everything that was happening on the court.

Tristan had his A game all the way through to the last ten seconds on the clock. He tossed the ball to Mike Dallas, over the heads of their opponents, and Dallas made the winning basket. The game had been so close that the crowd went wild. Miles flew off the bench and went to high five his team mates. He was happy they had won, even if he hadn't played a part in it. However, he glanced toward the bleachers and saw his father was wearing a huge frown. He wasn't happy at all.

Miles and Tristan exited the locker room together after they changed into their street clothes. Mr. Hollingsworth was waiting for Miles in the foyer, right in front of the school's front doors. He looked at the two boys sternly.

"You sure your dad won't be mad that you're not leaving with him?" Tristan asked.

Miles shook his head. "Doesn't matter if he is. Come on."

Miles started walking pointedly toward the front doors, and Tristan followed him. Mr. Hollingsworth's eyes followed them as they prepared to leave.

"Miles, where do you think you're going?"

Miles stopped and turned to him.

"I'm just going to hang out with Tristan for a while." Miles said calmly.

Mr. Hollingsworth shook his head in protest. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Well, I think it's a great idea." Miles challenged his father. Tristan felt his heart swell. This was exactly the kind of battle he'd wanted to see the night before.

Mr. Hollingsworth lowered his voice, grabbing Miles's arm and pulling him a bit closer. He didn't seem to realize that Tristan would be within earshot no matter what. "You've already humiliated yourself enough today. That boy got more court time in the last hour than you've had in the last two years."

Tristan felt his stomach turn with disgust. He glanced around uncomfortably, thankful that there was no one else in the hall to hear them.

"I don't have time for this," Miles muttered, and started to walk away. Mr. Hollingsworth jumped in front of him, fuming.

"I will tell you what you do and do not have time for!" He snapped. "This isn't the type of person you want to be seen with...traipsing around like a couple of fairy princesses."

Miles clenched his fists, and looked down at the floor. He was done. "Tris? You ready to go?"

Tristan nodded, uncomfortably approaching Miles. He wondered if Mr. Hollingsworth would have physically stopped them from leaving had the rest of the team not come out of the locker room at that precise moment.

"I'll see you at home," Miles told him smartly.

Just as Miles started to push open the school doors, his father called after him.

"You walk out that door, and you'll have hell to pay, Miles, I swear to god..." Mr. Hollingsworth said.

But Miles didn't listen. He just walked outside, Tristan following close behind.

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?" Tristan asked curiously, as he and Miles walked down Queen Street toward the Milligan house.

"Sure. Why not?" Miles answered, still recovering from the confrontation with his father.

"Why do you even hang out with me?" Tristan wondered. "I mean, you're not... _trying_ to piss your dad off, are you?"

Miles shook his head sincerely. "No. Definitely not."

"Then why?" Tristan asked. "You're so nice to me. You act like I'm so important to you... it doesn't exactly seem like it's worth all the trouble you go through."

Miles was quiet. He frowned down at the sidewalk.

"Sorry..." Tristan said awkwardly. "I guess that was a loaded question."

Miles looked up at him. "Don't apologize. It's my fault. I'm not great at talking...about my feelings, I mean."

"Oh..." Tristan said, although he didn't fully understand.

"Look: you're a good person. You make me feel like I all I have to be is myself. Everyone else... they expect something from me. You're just... easy to be around."

Tristan blushed. "I'm glad."

"So, I guess it's my turn," Miles said, lightening the mood a bit. "Why do you hang out with me?"

"Well, at first it was just for your biceps, but then I saw your house..." Tristan teased. Miles laughed, then Tristan fell serious. "I guess for the same reason you said."

Miles nodded. "I don't care what my dad says or does. I'm not going to stop hanging out with you, okay?"

Tristan nodded, accepting Miles's sincerity. "Yeah. Okay."

And the two of them continued down the street, both feeling a bit more content than they had before.


	2. Chapter 2

**_This might feel rushed, but I wanted to keep this story short. Maybe 4 or 5 chapters. I'll probably write longer Triles fics later, but this one wasn't something I felt like stringing out. _**

* * *

Tristan grinned, and waved goodbye to Miles as he entered the science lab. They walked to class together most days. It wasn't that they were trying to spend all their time together. They just sort of fell into the pattern. It felt natural.

Maya was waiting for him at their usual station, frowning as she watched him come through the door.

"So..." She said, as he sat down. "How's Miles?"

"You're not mad that I'm still friends with him, are you?" Tristan asked cautiously, climbing onto his stool.

"Why would I be mad?" Maya shrugged. Maya and Miles had almost gotten together a few months back. However, things had ended questionably after a long chain of arguments and misunderstandings. "You can be friends with whoever you want. It's not your fault he didn't want to be with me."

"Maya... _Must _you be so negative?" Tristan sighed heavily. "Lots of guys think you're hot. You're probably just not his type."

"Miles doesn't have a type," Maya claimed. "He flirts with anything that moves."

"I move. He hasn't flirted with me." Tristan teased.

Maya shook her head. "No. He actually talks to you. He cares about you. He never said two words to me that weren't some cheap attempt to get me to make out with him... And it was almost like he never really liked me. It's like, once he finally got me alone he wasn't really invested, you know?"

"Well, Miles is a complicated guy..." Tristan reminded her.

"And you understand him because you guys have been spending so much time together..." Maya said impatiently.

"We're friends..." Tristan said, feeling like he had to defend himself. He didn't know if she was trying to imply something about how close he and Miles had gotten. He'd already dealt with the assumptions of Mr. Hollingsworth, he didn't want to deal with the same kind from his supposed best friend.

"I know! I'm fine with it!" Maya claimed, though he didn't quite believe her.

"Then why are we even having this conversation?" Tristan asked. "Can't a straight guy be friends with a gay guy without you assuming something's going to happen?"

Maya shrugged. "That's not what I'm doing. I was just asking you how he was."

Tristan shrugged. "He's fine."

"Okay..." Maya said. "That's all I wanted to know."

"Fine..." Tristan said back, and they settled into their seats, ready for class to start.

* * *

Tristan stood in front of the mirror that evening, taking a pair of tweezers to his eyebrows and assuring himself over and over again that he wasn't trying to look good for Miles, per say. He was trying to look good for himself... wasn't he?

Sure, Miles was going to be at his house any minute, but that hadn't influenced Tristan's decision to put on a nice sweater and cologne. He just wanted to get out of the old clothes he'd worn to school. Sometimes he got restless, and he just wanted to look nice.

But if Miles noticed how good he looked, he wasn't going to pretend not to be flattered.

Tristan sighed heavily, taking a step back from his mirror. He couldn't like Miles again. He couldn't put him in that position. They were best friends, and Miles had gone through so much to stay his best friend, despite of his dad's feelings.

Tristan heard his doorbell ring, and gave himself one last uncertain look in the mirror before rushing to answer it.

"Delivery..." Miles joked, holding up the bag of take-out that he'd picked up on his way over.

"Come in," Tristan said carefully, holding the door open for him.

Miles was wearing a nice blue button-down with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of tight chinos that hugged him in all the right places. Tristan tried not to notice how good he looked, but it was harder than he thought it would be.

"Should we eat in the kitchen?" Miles asked.

Tristan had to snap himself out the trance Miles was putting him in. "Huh?"

"Where do you wanna eat?" Miles asked, a small, amused smile coming over his face. Tristan's chest tightened. He knew that look. Miles knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Oh, the kitchen's fine..." Tristan said lightly.

As they made their way through the house, Miles glanced around curiously.

"It's quiet. Are your parents out?"

"Yeah..." Tristan thought about what that would mean if he and Miles were together. _No_, he told himself, _stop thinking like that._

"Excellent..." Miles said.

_What does that mean? _Tristan blushed, and just nodded, speechless, as they walked into the Milligan's tiny, cramped kitchen.

Miles began pulling food out of the bags. He'd stopped at an Italian restaurant, and had brought little aluminum containers full of baked ziti and chopped salad.

"I figured you wouldn't go for the carbs in the pasta," Miles told him. "And I heard their salad's supposed to be good."

"Miles, you're so considerate," Tristan said, grabbing plates and silverware from his cabinet and carrying them over to the table.

As he was setting them down, he and Miles turned from the table at the same time, and realized they were standing just centimeters from one another. The room was small, so their wasn't a lot of space to move, but Tristan hadn't thought about that.

"Oh... sorry..." Tristan said clumsily. "This isn't exactly Hollingsworth manor."

"No... it's fine..." Miles said softly. For some reason, none of them were moving. Was personal space just not an issue anymore?

"Okay. Good." Tristan inhaled. He could feel the warmth of Miles body. He could see every detail on his face.

And Miles wasn't moving. He seemed just as stuck as Tristan was.

Tristan pulled himself back down the earth, panicking. What was going on? Were he and Miles having a moment? Was he imagining things just like he had in Paris?

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom... before we eat..." He said quickly. Then, he quickly left the room, needing a moment to be alone and process.

* * *

Tristan slowly sat down on his couch, watching Miles as he came around the coffee table to join him. They'd barely spoken during dinner, except to awkwardly comment on how good the food was, with a few brief exchanges about similarly good food they'd had in the past tossed in here and there.

"What do you want to watch?" Tristan asked coolly, grabbing his remote.

Miles shrugged. "I'm down for whatever you want."

He sat on the couch right next to Tristan. Their shoulders were practically touching. Tristan felt a rush of electricity go through his body, just like he did every time Miles hugged him. This time, it was more intense than ever. All he could think about was how he wanted to be even closer to Miles; as close as possible.

"Tris?" Miles asked, and Tristan realized he hadn't answered the question.

"Let's just see what's on?"

They flipped through channels for about ten minutes straight, neither of them saying anything about the images that flashed before them. It probably would have been easier to just go off the cable menu, but neither of them thought of that. Tristan wasn't really processing what he was looking at, either. He couldn't. He could only think about how warm Miles' body was.

"Are you seeing anything?" He asked quietly.

Miles hesitated. "No. Not really."

"Um. I'm sure we'll find someth -"

Before he could finish talking, Miles interrupted him by grabbing the remote. Their hands brushed together as he took it out of Tristan's hands and switched the TV off.

"I'm not really big on watching for the sake of watching," Miles said.

"Well, we have to do something," Tristan told him.

"Let's talk," Miles suggested.

"About what?" Tristan asked suspiciously.

"Let's just... talk. I like talking to you." Miles told him.

Tristan blushed. "Right. Um..." His mind was going blank. What was wrong with him?

"Look..." Miles finally said. "You've been acting weird since I got here. Did I do something?"

"No. You're fine." Tristan assured him.

"Tris. I know you better than that."

"It's just..." Tristan knew he wasn't going to win. "Do you have to look so good all the time?"

Miles laughed. "Excuse me?"

"You look fantastic tonight, okay? There. I said it. And you brought me dinner from a really nice restaurant, and you knew exactly what I would want, and... the way you looked at me, when I was setting the table. You can't do that, Miles. It's not fair!"

"The way _I _looked at _you_?"

"Stop it, okay?!" Tristan whined, scooting away from him slightly. "You don't get it. I don't have any other guys in my life, and the way you are... It gets... confusing."

Miles raised his eyebrows, speechless. He was surprised to hear Tristan say these things. He had thought they'd come so far since their little misunderstanding in Paris.

"Stop looking at me like that," Tristan crossed his arms, miserable. "You make me feel like such and idiot."

Tristan stared straight ahead, and Miles stared at Tristan for a moment. He hated how hurt his best friend looked. Although he couldn't quite understand what he'd done to cause it, he wanted to make it better, because Tristan made _him _feel better than anyone else on the planet. Miles glanced down at his lap, thinking. He had to apologize, if only he could find the words.

"Tris..." He began, then stopped.

Tristan looked back at him. "What?"

Miles looked back up again. Tristan was watching him, expectantly, and suddenly, he knew that there were no words he could say to perfectly explain the rush of emotions he was experiencing.

So, he let his body take over. He leaned forward, gently taking Tristan in his arms and kissing him firmly. He didn't think about what it meant for him to want to be kissing Tristan as much as he did. All he knew was that it felt right.

Tristan kissed back with surprised force, and Miles could feel a trace of a smile on his lips. He smiled too, and kissed Tristan harder.

Tristan ran his hands down Miles's toned biceps. Miles grabbed handfuls of Tristan's soft hair. They leaned into each other, really appreciating the moment they were having, and not wanting it to end.

But eventually, they both knew they had to stop, before it got too heated and got past the point of rational decision making. With a few final pecks on the lips, they pulled apart, staring at each other with identical looks of uncertainty on their faces.

That's when it started to sink in. Miles had just made out with a guy. He broke eye contact with Tristan and swallowed nervously. Then, it was like Tristan was reading his mind.

"Hey..." Tristan said comfortingly. "Look, I don't want you to think that... I mean... just because we kissed doesn't mean..."

Miles reached up and placed a hand on his own forehead. He felt lightheaded. This moment was so unreal.

"Oh, come on," Tristan reached out and took Miles in his arms. Miles came in and rested his head on Tristan's chest and they settled back into the couch. They sat like that for a long moment before either of them spoke again. "You're fine."

"I just didn't want everyone to be right about me," Miles said.

And Tristan nodded. He understood.

* * *

Miles woke up that morning with an enormous weight on his chest. He sat up in bed and immediately remembered the night before; how close he and Tristan had sat, and the way they had kissed. The way they had held each other... He knew there was no going back now. Maybe he wasn't completely gay, but he liked guys, and the idea of pretending like he didn't anymore gave him a sick panicky feeling inside. He was ready to start coming to terms with himself. He wanted to be with Tristan.

Miles got out of bed and made his way down to the kitchen. His dad hadn't been home to yell at him the night before when he'd gotten home the night before, and he knew if they bumped into each other this morning, he'd get an earful. However, something prevented him from caring. He was fed up with the way his father had made him feel; angry at the fact that he'd kept him from acknowledging his true feelings sooner.

Mr. Hollingsworth was at the kitchen table, eating a croissant and sipping a large mug of coffee as he read the morning paper. Miles stopped in the doorway, waiting for the older man to look up at him. When he finally did, his face was stone.

"Oh," He said simply. "Look who made it home from his little boyfriend's house."

Miles felt heat rush to his face. "So what if he was my boyfriend?" He said bravely. He hadn't expected to come out to his father so soon, but something in the tone of the older Hollingsworth's voice had made him snap.

Mr. Hollingsworth froze as he was taking another sip of his coffee. He slowly lowered the mug. "I find it amusing how far you'll go to rebel against me, Miles." He said sternly.

"You know, I don't know what you want from me, Dad." Miles told him. "Have you even noticed how good I've been doing at Degrassi? My grades are better. I haven't gotten into half the trouble I got into at my old school... but somehow, you still find a reason to be disappointed in me."

"I'd take you stealing my scotch and playing childish pranks on teachers over you running around like some sort of fairy princess any day!"

"Wow. A plus parenting, Dad, really!"

"I have done everything in my power to make sure you turned out right!"

"What? Like pulling me out of dance class? Making me play basketball? Making me feel like a loser if I didn't have a girlfriend? It wasn't going to change anything."

"Because you've always been so damn stubborn!"

"I've always been _gay_!" Miles shouted. It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and he felt light headed the second it escaped his lips. "I was always going to like guys, and you always knew that, and you tortured me for it!"

His father shot up from his chair, furious.

"Do not blame me for your unhappiness! You're the one who's screwing up your life!"

"No, I'm not!" Miles insisted. "For the first time, I might actually have a chance to be happy. Tristan makes me happy."

His dad just stared at him, his face contorting, as if he was trying to figure out what he was looking at.

"Miles, I don't want you to talk about this anymore." He finally spoke in a low tone. "You live in this house, you do your best to appear normal. Do you understand me?"

Miles knew there was nothing left to say. His father was acting exactly the way he'd expected him to. The only positive thing was that the conversation he'd been dreading for years was finally over with. There was nowhere to move but forward.

"Yes, I understand you," He lied, and walked out of the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

**_You guys seem to want me to stretch this out, so I might make this a lot longer. Enjoy!_**

* * *

The light in the library had changed as the sun stopped coming through the windows, and the only source of illumination was the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. Miles sat in an armchair, flipping through a month-old issue of _Sports Illustrated_. He had finished his homework for the weekend, and wasn't sure what else to do with himself.

He heard someone clear their throat. He looked up to see Becky Baker approaching him, an ID around her neck that said "Library Volunteer".

He looked back down at his magazine. "Can I help you?"

"It's nine…" She responded apologetically. "The library's closing."

Miles immediately dropped his magazine on the low table in front of him, and stood up.

"No problem. You don't have to tell me twice." He slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed toward the door.

Becky hesitated, regretfully watching him go. After a moment, she called after him. "It's Miles, right?"

He turned around again and nodded impatiently.

"If you want to keep reading until we finish closing, I can give you a ride home. My mom lent me her car for the night."

"What makes you think I don't have a ride home?" Miles asked, guarded.

"I saw you last night at the bus stop…" She said slowly. "…and the night before, I just - "

Miles interrupted her, his voice softening. "Thank you, really, but I'm fine."

He turned away from her one last time, and made his way through the door.

* * *

Miles rode the bus for two hours, transferring from one to the next, just going around the city, staring out the glared windows and letting his mind wander. He had heard once that homeless people rode public transportation at night to stay warm, and by the types of people he was seeing, he realized there was truth to the rumor. For a moment, he felt as if he could empathize with them; these people who weren't wanted anywhere. As it neared eleven o'clock, though, and Miles stepped off his final bus to go home to his father's million dollar mansion, he felt stupid even thinking he knew what they felt like. They literally had no where else to go.

Miles tiptoed into his kitchen, trying to make as little noise as possible on the off chance that someone was still stirring upstairs. He made his way over to his mother's stationary desk, a small area in the far corner near the pantry where the marble counter sunk lower than the rest of the room so that Mrs. Hollingsworth could pull a chair up and write out her grocery lists, not that she ever bought her own groceries.

There was a drawer under the desktop. It was locked, but Miles knew the key was in a coffee mug in the cupboard above. He stealthily retrieved the key and unlocked the drawer. Inside, his iPhone sat on top of a stack of legal pads. His hands shook as he grabbed it, turning it on and fumbling with it. He dialed Tristan's number and slipped into his pantry, so his voice wouldn't resonate throughout the rest of the house.

"Hello, handsome," Tristan answered pleasantly. "I tried to call you but it went to voicemail. I didn't think I'd get to talk to you tonight."

"Sorry. I was at the library." Miles apologized.

There was a quick pause. "The Library? Miles, it's practically midnight," Tristan told him. His tone wasn't accusing, just confused. Miles ignored him.

"How was movie night with Maya?" He asked.

"I'm still here. I'm sleeping over." Tristan answered quickly.

"Oh. Am I interrupting?" Miles asked cautiously.

"Miles, I told you. I wanted to talk to you. You're fine." Tristan assured him gently. "How was your night? Did you see Winston at all?"

"Nah, he's in Ottawa visiting his grandma," Miles explained. "Um. My night was fine, though. I got a lot done on my history project."

"Lame. We'll do something fun tomorrow, okay?" Tristan told him.

"Don't do me any favors," Miles joked half-heartedly.

"Miles, don't be crazy!" Tristan cried. "I would spend the entire weekend with you, if I wasn't trying to soften the blow of all this for Maya. What kind of friend would I be if I just blew her off to go make out with her ex?

"With all respect to Maya, we never _actually_ dated," Miles replied cheekily.

"Well, she kissed you first. In her eyes, that's all that matters."

Miles sighed regretfully. "I just really missed you tonight, Tris."

"Aww," Tristan's voice softened. "I missed you too."

There was a long pause, and they just listened to the sound of each other's silence.

"You still there?" Miles finally asked.

"Yeah. Of course." Tristan replied.

"Look: I'm going to the dot tomorrow morning for breakfast around eight. Do you want to meet me there?"

"Eight's kind of early…" Tristan started. "And I'm not sure it would be cool to just _leave_ here in the morning.

Miles's chest tightened. "That's fine. We can take a rain check."

"I guess I could wake up for you."

"Perfect." Miles said. "Goodnight, Tris."

"Goodnight."

Miles hung up, and slowly exited the pantry. When he put his phone back, he made sure it was exactly the way he had found it. He knew his father would be checking on it first thing in the morning.

* * *

Miles got up at six the following morning, woken by his alarm clock. He knew that his parents could wake up any time after six-thirty. They were early risers, even on Saturdays like this one.

He took his time in the shower, and put on a fresh polo and skinny jeans. He combed his hair carefully and grabbed his jacket and wallet, ready to bolt.

It was about six forty-five as he came through his kitchen, and even though he was cutting it close, he thought he would still be able to avoid his family. However, he found his mother at the kitchen table, in her silk pajamas and cashmere robe, stirring Sweet-N-Low into her tea cup as she flipped through a Pottery Barn catalog.

"Good Morning," She said to him as he entered, as if nothing was wrong.

"Morning," Miles mumbled, starting for the door.

"Are you leaving already?" She asked him. "I could make you some eggs."

Miles laughed softly to himself in disbelief. He stopped and turned to her.

"_Eggs?_" He asked, actually offended.

"Or… French toast…?"

"First of all, when have you ever cooked anything?" Miles started in on her.

"Miles. I know how to cook eggs. It's pretty simple." She said dryly back to him.

Miles shook his head. "I'm meeting someone."

"Tristan?" She asked.

"Yes." He said spitefully. "Tristan."

She nodded at her catalog, unaffected. Miles crossed his arms, confused. After a moment of silence, she looked up again.

"I'm trying to stay out of it, you know." She said simply.

"Excuse me?" Miles asked flatly.

Mrs. Hollingsworth sighed, frustrated. "Well, you know how your father is! But, I've done what I'm capable of. I made sure he didn't cancel your credit cards."

"If you think that's what matters…" Miles rolled his eyes.

"Miles, it could be a lot worse!" She snapped at him. "Count your blessings, because you're damn lucky he's not locking you up."

"Of course he's not!" Miles cried. "That means I'd actually be home. I'd be around to embarrass him, and god knows that's not what he wants."

His mother was silent. She had no defense.

"He didn't take my phone and my computer to keep me from talking to Tristan, because he knew I'd do it anyway. He's trying to make coming home as miserable as possible; giving me nothing to do, ignoring me when I dare to show up for family dinners. And where are you? You're right next to him, letting it happen because that's just _how he is_? That's fine. Do what you want, but don't tell me that you're any different than he is, because you're not."

"Miles…" His mother started, but it was too late. He was flying out the door. He was done.

* * *

Miles had finished his second cup of coffee by the time eight O'clock rolled around. He told himself he'd wait for the third until Tristan showed up, but once it got to be eight-fifteen, and he was still sitting at his table, alone, he figured there was no harm in ordering another.

He sipped it slowly. Eight thirty rolled around. He could feel his heart sinking. Tristan was standing him up. He knew it would be a possibility. After all, Tristan had told him eight was too early. Miles was feeling anxious from all the caffeine, and knew he had to get some food in his system. The waitress came around and he ordered some eggs and bacon.

Eight forty-five. His food arrived, and he dug into it eagerly. He wished he had his phone. What if something had happened to Tristan on the way over?

Nine O'clock. The bell above the door chimed, and Miles looked up to see Tristan and Maya walking in, arm in arm. They glanced around for a bit before laying their eyes on him and perkily sauntering over.

Miles felt his stomach turn, as a wave of disappointment passed over him. The happy pair approached him, and he focused on his food.

"Looks like somebody didn't wait for us," Tristan teased, falling into the seat next to him.

"Well, I've been here for over an hour." Miles responded dryly. "I got hungry."

Tristan picked up on the unsatisfied tone of his voice, and froze up a bit, quickly slipping into defense mode.

"Miles, I texted you about twelve times this morning…"

"Well, when I don't text you back, you should just assume that we're sticking to original plans."

Maya looked back and forth between the two of them, nervously. "Do you guys want me to go?"

The boys ignored her.

"Miles, what am I supposed to do? You _never_ text me back!"

"And maybe if you pulled yourself away from your girlfriend for two minutes, I'd have time to tell you why."

"That's not fair!" Tristan snapped.

Miles shoved a bite of eggs in his mouth, and chewed quietly. At that moment, the waitress breezed past, and Miles stuck his arm out to wave her down. He swallowed his food quickly.

"Hey, can I get a bill?" He asked.

She nodded.

"Thank you."

"You're _leaving_?" Tristan asked angrily.

"That's the plan," Miles replied dryly.

"I can not believe you right now!" Tristan yelled.

Miles stood up. "You know what? I'm going to go pay at the register. You two enjoy your meal."

He walked away, and Tristan stayed behind at the table, miserably frowning down at Miles's plate. Maya watched Miles go, concerned, and then turned back to Tristan, resting a comforting hand on his arm.

* * *

Miles wandered through the mall for the next couple of hours. He felt so restless, and hated that he was completely running out of ideas for places to kill time. He'd hoped to spend the day at Tristan's, but that plan had gone to hell. Now, he was alone.

He went into H&M, thinking maybe he'd find a cool new tie or something to cheer himself up. Retail therapy didn't always work for him, but he figured it was worth a shot.

As soon as he walked into the store, he saw Becky Baker, the library girl, about a yard away from him, poking through a rack of dresses. At first, he thought the best idea would be to turn and leave. He didn't know why, but he felt weird about her being so nice to him the night before. Before he could act, though, she looked up and saw him.

"Oh… Hey!" She said pleasantly. "Um… could I get your opinion on something?"

Miles didn't want to be rude to her. He had no reason to be.

"Sure…" He walked toward her. She held up a green dress.

"Do you think I could pull this off?" She asked uncertainly, her eyes crinkling up as she smiled embarrassedly.

"Um… I'm not the best with girl's fashion," He admitted.

Becky laughed softly and put the dress back on the rack.

"I like it better in yellow…" She told him. "But I think I wear too many bright colors."

Miles nodded, trying to pretend like he cared.

"Sorry," She apologized, reading him well. "I hate shopping alone."

Miles sympathized. He suddenly felt a little more of a soft spot for her.

Becky asked, "Are you here with anyone?"

Miles shook his head. "Not really…"

"It's funny how I keep bumping into you." She said.

"Yeah… it is."

An hour later, Miles and Becky were walking together through the mall. Becky had gotten the green dress, a pair of flats and some bracelets. Miles was still empty handed, but he didn't care. To be honest, he found Becky's sunny personality slightly annoying, but he was so desperate for some company that he didn't really care.

"Can I ask you a question?" Becky asked cautiously.

"I guess so," Miles told her.

"You seem unhappy." She told him.

There was a long pause. "That's not really a question."

"It's just… I see you at the library every night, and you're never really doing anything. I just want you to know that if you needed someone to talk to… I mean, you don't really know me, so I understand if you don't."

Miles was genuinely touched by her efforts, and before he could even fully process her offer, the words start to spill out.

"My dad doesn't want me at home. So I go to the library, and the mall, and the dot…"

"What happened?" She asked. "…If you don't mind me asking."

Miles sighed. Maybe he just needed to get it off his chest. "I came out to him." He said simply.

Becky nodded. "…As gay?" She had to clarify.

Miles smiled a bit. "More or less… I've been seeing this guy, and now my dad can't even look at me."

"It's hard, isn't it?" She sympathized. "You know, I dated a trans guy last year, Adam. To me, he was just a guy, but my parents… they're pretty religious, and I went through hell to be with him."

This surprised Miles. "Seriously?"

Becky nodded sadly. "When he died, they acted like they felt bad, but I never really felt it. I could tell deep down that they thought he deserved it... like they thought I deserved to lose him. They wouldn't go to the funeral... They wouldn't even drive me."

Miles looked at her quickly, wondering if he was hearing her right.

"Things still haven't really gotten better," She explained. "I joined every club I could. I got that volunteer job at the library. But I still have to go home and see them at the end of the day, and it kills me."

Miles was suddenly speechless. His problems suddenly seemed pretty small. "Um… I'm sorry. That really sucks."

Becky bit her lip, frowning. "Look, I didn't mean to make this about me…"

"No. It's fine," Miles assured her.

"I guess I just wanted to tell you that love is important. I don't regret dating Adam. You never know what god's plan is, or how much time you have together, so ignore what your dad thinks, because if you let any drama cut into the time you and your boyfriend have together, you'll regret it."

Miles looked at her. He didn't know what to say. So he stopped walking, and hugged her. She was surprised for a second, but quickly hugged back.

"Thanks…" He said.

"Anytime…" She replied softly.

* * *

Miles pounded on the Milligan's door that afternoon, hoping desperately that Tristan would be home. Mrs. Milligan answered the door, to his disappointment.

"Miles… is everything okay?" She asked, laughing warmly. "You almost knocked the door down."

"Is Tristan here?" He asked urgently.

"He's up in his room." Mrs. Milligan told him. "He came home from Maya's in quite the mood. Has he talked to you? Do you know if they're fighting?"

Miles shook his head, playing dumb. "Can I go up and see him?"

"Of course," Mrs. Milligan said, and let him in.

Miles entered the house and went straight to Tristan's room. He knocked lightly on the door.  
"Mom! I told you! I don't want lunch!" Tristan yelled.

Miles opened the door, and entered.

"It's not your mom." He said nervously.

Tristan glared at him from his bed. "Oh, how surprising… He didn't call first." He said sarcastically to himself.

"Tris, I don't want to waste our time fighting," Miles marched over to the bed, and gently sat down on the end of it.

"Then why did you start a fight with me?" Tristan demanded to know.

Miles breathed deeply, careful to stay calm even though Tristan was coming at him.

"I'm sorry I didn't see your texts. My dad took my phone." Miles told him. "I guess he was trying to ground me, but he hasn't done a good job at enforcing it, seeing how he does nothing to stop me from leaving the house… But he does have my phone, and there's not a lot I can do about it."

"You could have told me that," Tristan said, his voice softening a bit.

"Yeah, well, I didn't want you worrying about me," Miles told him. "You've had other things going on this week, and I knew how you'd act if you knew how bad things were. I didn't want you to think I needed you."

"I would have helped you," Tristan reminded him, grabbing his hand. "I really care about you. I'm sorry if that's too much for your pride to handle."

Miles sighed, and leaned forward to kiss Tristan lightly.

"You're great…" Miles told him. "I'm so sorry for everything."

Tristan nodded, kissing him again. "I'm all in here, Miles. Anything you need from me, just ask."

And then they kept kissing, because no other words needed to be said.


End file.
